A Biological Imperative
by kimbari
Summary: AdamaRoslin. Smut, smut, more smut and a plot bunny...


A Biological Imperative  
by kimbari

Rating: Ummm...  
Characters: Roslin/Adama  
Disclaimer: Ron Moore said…  
Summary: Smut, smut, more smut and a plot bunny.

It begins with neither forethought nor intention. The tension plays hide and seek among the charts and files and books and binders. Amidst the detritus of the job they have to do, that biological imperative smolders.

"I give up," Laura said. She pulled off her glasses, tossed them onto a pile of papers and sat back in her chair. She stared into Adama's eyes.

"Did I ask you to?" he said. A smile touched his lips.

"You don't have to _say_ anything," she retorted. "You just sit there and… radiate."

Adama tried and failed to suppress a smile. "Radiate?" he said.

"Radiate," Laura said. She continued to hold his gaze, almost like an adversary.

After a long moment Adama removed his own glasses. "Couch or bunk?"

Laura raised her eyebrows. "Choices," she murmured. "In a world gone mad…" She trailed off as he came around to her side of the table. He offered his hands and she took them. He pulled her to her feet.

She had kicked off her shoes early in the meeting and now she stood inside his personal space, a scant inch shorter, their bodies barely touching, each listening to the other breathe. She closed her eyes, sensing his warmth like the heat from a sun-filled window. _Sun_, she thought. _I don't remember what that's like anymore._ She rested her hands on his chest and he covered them with his own. His hands were gentle, his lips soft as he nuzzled the line of her jaw. Her breathing quickened and her hands slid up his chest to encircle his neck.

She tipped her head back for a kiss and he gave it to her, mouth wide, tongue sweet, his hands pulling her body tightly to his, possessively. She felt comets shoot through her, kissing him. He backed her against the table. "Table's another option," he whispered in her ear, pressing his body against hers. She twined one leg around his, bending her other knee to slide beneath the slight curve of his belly. His breathing roughened when her pubic bone, beneath skirt, beneath underwear, made contact with his erection.

He moaned and she smiled, pleased that the effect she was having on him was the same as the effect he was having on her. "Table's a bad idea," she whispered and as if to prove it, she lost her balance. He caught her, but not before a wayward hand knocked several reports to the floor. They both chuckled and then he began to move against her, his breath a soft roar in her ear. A memory surfaced and she smiled. "What about against the wall?" she asked, her face pressed against his shoulder.

"Twenty years ago, maybe," Adama said, and the soft rasp of his voice sent a stroke of lightning down her spine. "It's not happening now." He wound his hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back. "So we're back to the original choices, or…" He glanced down at the floor, then back into her eyes. She let herself slide into the navy-blue depths of his eyes for just a moment.

"Twenty years ago, maybe," Laura returned, then smiled. "I'm too old for the floor."

"You're never too old for the floor, Madame President," Adama said.

"I'd beg to differ," Laura said, breathless as he unfastened her jacket with a single practiced hand, "except I get distracted when you call me 'Madame President'."

"Distracted is good," Adama murmured absently, as he unbuttoned her blouse. He stared at her bra-clad breasts as he pushed the jacket and blouse off her shoulders. The clothing slid off her arms and onto the table. He reached behind her and began to unhook her bra. "I hate bras," he remarked into her hair.

"I need one," she told him. "I'm not giving them up." He pulled back and stared at her, amusement lighting his face.

"You're giving up this one," Adama told her and neatly divested her of it, tossing it aside. He gathered her breasts in both hands and nuzzled, first one, then the other. He gently massaged them, his hands moving like waves. Her eyes slipped shut as he bent over her left breast, his fingers curiously seeking out the strangeness within. She squirmed and he looked up at her. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Laura shook her head. "Not at all." She spoke to him with her eyes, but in a language he didn't quite understand. He bent over her breast again and nuzzled it, then in a sudden, anguished rage, he bit down on her flesh. She yelped and pulled back. She glared down at the mark on her breast, then back up at him. "If I'd wanted a mastectomy, Will, I would've had one!" she said.

"Sorry…" He stepped away from her; his rage against her disease gone as quickly as it had come. The mark he'd left on her breast looked angry. She looked angry, scowling at him, naked from the waist up, her hair a mess. She also looked gods-damned beautiful and he told her so. That seemed to appease her.

"If I weren't so horny, I'd go home," she told him, folding her arms over her breasts. She continued to eye him balefully.

"Lucky me," he sighed, then smiled. "Come over here Madame President, so I can make you not horny anymore."

She caught her breath at the use of her title and the word 'horny' in the same sentence. "You're distracting me again…"

He took the two steps he needed to close the distance between them. He pulled her arms away from her breasts and held them out by her wrists, his thumbs gently stroking her palms. "The distraction's mutual."

She disengaged her hands and began to unbutton his jacket. He helped her. And when she tugged at his undershirts, he helped her remove those, too. She rested her hands on the bare expanse of his chest. She could feel his heart thrumming beneath her right hand, the rapid rise and fall of his respiration. She closed her eyes and turned her back to him, then tipped her head back and let her hair tickle his chest.

The sensation made him catch his breath. He pulled her closer, by her waist, then his hands slid up her ribcage to find her breasts again. He moaned softly as they filled his hands. She moaned in her turn as he stroked her nipples to attention. She reached behind her back to unfasten his pants. She struggled with the zipper and he chuckled. "I need more hands," he murmured into her ear as he relinquished his hold on her breasts and unzipped his pants.

She heard them fall to the floor, then felt his hands again, lifting her skirt, sliding between her body and her pantyhose. He carefully eased the garment off her, squatting to pull them down her legs to her feet. She stepped out of them. When she reached behind herself to unfasten her skirt, he said, "Leave the skirt on."

"Why?" she asked.

He stared down at her hands, arrested in the final act of undressing. They looked exquisite, somehow. _I love her,_ he thought but didn't say it. They were three words she didn't react well to so he said instead, "A half-dressed woman is sexier."

She drew a trembling breath. "I'm not sure I can survive sexier," she whispered over her shoulder.

"I think you might surprise yourself," he said softly. He turned her around and covered her mouth with his own.

It turned out to be the table after all. He backed her against it again as he kissed her. He pulled her skirt up, out of the way, and then he lifted her, laid her down among the charts and files and books and binders. Amidst the detritus of the job they have to do, he pulled up a chair and seated himself, placed her feet on his shoulders and buried his face between her thighs.

The scent of her… his head filled with the warm, musky scent of her as he pushed the soft curls aside, the better to taste her, and she was swollen there, her little bud stood sweetly at attention. He closed his lips over it and was rewarded with the sound of her musical voice, raised in a cry of pleasure.

It had been tried before. The failure had been hers, a line down, too many changes in her body due to time, due to illness. _Because you like it…_ His pleasure in the act communicated itself in his undivided attention. In the languid, gentle way he sucked and savored her. In the way he kissed her there and touched her there, sliding a single finger into her wetness, just past the clasp of her muscles. It was teasing, it was enough, she wanted more…

He circled her thighs with his arms, concentrating. He circled her clit with his tongue, once… twice… three times. She cried out again and he stopped, leaving off his noshing to plant kisses and tiny bites on the insides of her thighs. She panted, trying to catch her breath. "A little one?" he murmured, nipping at her thigh. He felt her tense at the sting. "Um-hmm," she moaned. "Need a minute?" She moaned assent again and he went back to nuzzling her thighs. She clasped one of his hands, slipping her own fingers between his and her thigh. She clasped it hard and he sank his teeth into her thigh again, pulling the bite just before it got painful. He wanted to eat her, chew her up and swallow her, consume her, digest her, make her body a part of his own. The thought made him want to weep. "Minute's up," he announced and bent his head to her again.

Charts and files fell to the floor with the sound of paper slicing through air as Laura moved her hips in time to Adama's lovemaking. She cried out breathlessly to the gods as he reeled her in, towards ecstasy. Her inarticulate cries suddenly coalesced into words. "I want you," she whispered. "I want you… inside me…" He didn't need a second invitation. His hands tightened on her thighs as he rose and leaned toward her. She reached between them, guiding him, and he pushed into her. They cried out in unison as the connection was made. More papers slid to the floor as he pulled her upright, held her close, pressing her tightly against himself. She could barely move in that position. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squirmed in counterpoint to his thrusts.

It was over very quickly, too quickly. They both cried out again, this time in simultaneous release. Each could feel the other's contractions, deep inside, in sync. He groaned, she whimpered. She trembled, he shook. "Laura…" He rasped her name into her ear and deep inside her the muscles that clasped him tightened further; the sensation made him swear. He ran his fingers down her spine, tracing the bumps, feeling the heat, sensing the energy there.

They relaxed, slowly, and she put her feet down and he lifted her from the table. He felt the ridges from the table's edge on her backside and knelt to inspect the damage. He caressed then kissed the angry wheals there. They would probably become bruises but he thought she'd live. He got to his feet and told her of his findings, adding, "Now you can't say I never kissed your ass."

Laura giggled, then stopped and grimaced. "What's wrong?" Adama said. "I'm leaking," Laura said through her teeth. "Don't move," he said. He caught himself before taking a step, then stooped to pull his pants up. She giggled again as he fastened them. "Don't laugh," he growled. She laughed anyway as he went into the head and returned with a towel. Instead of handing it to her, he mopped her dry himself. Her breathing roughened as this task seemed to take a lot of time and quite a bit of concentration on his part. He let the towel fall to the floor and began a circular caress of her belly. His hand lightly brushed her pubic curls with each pass, and her eyes slipped shut as she savored his caress. His finger delicately slipped between her lips and stroked her swelling clitoris. She moaned and her head fell against his shoulder.

"You ready for another go?" he asked, and kissed her neck.

Laura chuckled. "I think the real question is, are _you_ ready?" She twisted her head around to look at him.

"Good question," he said, getting tangled up in her gaze. "Let's discuss this in my rack." When she looked puzzled, he said, "Bed."

"Ah." She smiled. After a long moment she said, "In my skirt?"

Adama raised his eyebrows. "I think we can dispense with clothes, now," he said, released her and unfastened his pants.

She unfastened her skirt and stepped out of it, laying it beside her mussed jacket and blouse. Adama stared at her, taking in her naked loveliness. Laura stared in her turn at his equally nude, exquisitely male form. He wordlessly held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her with him, into his bunk.

They lay side by side, facing each other. He stared into her face as if memorizing it. He fingered her bangs away from her eyes, delicately traced the planes of her face. _Beautiful,_ he thought. _So beautiful. _Not the dewy face of a girl nor even that of fertile womanhood, but the one of changing sorrows. The one that was wise. The one that had survived.

_If we are going to even survive as a species, then we need to get the hell out of here and we need to start having babies…_

He returned from remembering to find her watching him. "Maybe we should just sleep," she suggested.

"Is that a concession to my age?" he asked. She continued to watch him, wordlessly. Then she said, "Do you need one?"

He guided her hand. "What do you think?"

Her soft gasp at what her hand encountered was his answer. He rolled on top of her and gave himself to her again. She spread her legs to receive him again. He thrust into her deeply, over and over again. She met him, stroke for stroke, caressed him with spread hands, conning the terrain of his body, the peaks and the valleys, the working of his muscles. She hit a sensitive spot and his moan of pleasure transmitted itself to her, made her answer in kind. He thrust harder, faster, and her hands slid up over his arms to his shoulders, where her fingers paused briefly to dig in before sliding down to his pecs. She stroked his rigid nipples with her thumbs and he came. His hoarse cry echoed off the walls of the room. She clutched his shoulders again and opened herself to his gift. _This is you, _she thought. _This is life…_ She stared up at him, into his eyes, shaken to her core. "You're mine," she said, her voice soft, intense as she followed him into ecstasy. "You're mine."

"Yes," he said and the admission seemed to release him. He relaxed on top of her, then rolled off and onto his side. After a moment his hand crept to her belly and began to caress it. Around and around, fingers, palm, warm, rough, stirring. Stirring. Her hand stole across his, slowing the movement. She laced her fingers in his, halting it permanently. Her ovaries died two years ago. In a lot less time than that, she herself would die. She felt her eyes and nose sting with useless tears. She choked them back, along with the rest of her changing sorrows.

_If we are going to even survive as a species, then we need to get the hell out of here and we need to start having babies…_

She looked over at him. He lay quietly, his eyes closed but she could tell he wasn't sleeping. _I love him, _she thought. _And this hurts more than I could ever imagine._

"Promise me something," she said aloud.

He opened his eyes, gazed into hers. _You're mine._ "Anything," he said.

_Gotcha._ "When you make planetfall, I want you to choose a strong, young woman and give her babies."

He held her gaze for a long moment in which she had a chance to note that her request didn't seem to surprise him, then he snorted.

"I'm too old." It had the ring of finality. It was also a damned lie.

"_I'm_ too old," Laura said. "A man can make babies until he dies."

"Doesn't mean he should," Adama pointed out.

"In this case it does… and you know it."

"Laura…"

"Promise me," she insisted. "You promise me."

His eyes sparkled with tears. "How can you ask this of me?"

"Do you think this is easy for me?" she said indignantly. "I'd give _anything_ to have known you before…" Her voice broke and she turned over on her side, her back to him. "Promise me," she whispered.

He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her towards himself. She resisted, but only for a moment. She relaxed and let him spoon himself behind her, one hand on her belly, her head on his arm. She could feel him breathing into her hair; each breath had a little hitch to it. _Don't weep for me,_ she thought. _Just… do as I ask._

"I promise," William Adama said.

End


End file.
